


Something About Mary Part I

by Mordhena



Series: Something About [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Azazel - Freeform, Betrayal, Character Study, Crossroads Deals, Family, M/M, Mommy Issues, Open Relationships, Other, POV Sam Winchester, Redemption, Resurrection, Sabriel - Freeform, Sam-Centric, Wincest - Freeform, crowstiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Winchester is back from the dead. Dean is cautiously (or maybe not so cautiously) happy about this. Sam is not pleased. He refuses to play happy families and is suspicious about the whole deal, given that it was Amara who raised Mary from the dead. </p><p>This is my imagining of Season 12. I don't think that the UK MOL have abducted Sam. Basically, I'm calling this a "Canon Denial" fiction which might become completely AU before it's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

 

It's not every day that your mother returns from the dead. That's weird enough, but that she returns and actually recognizes you? That blows weird right off the charts.

Dean sits in a nondescript motel room with a beer clasped in his hands. He hasn't touched a drop of it. He's staring at Mary Winchester seated on the edge of the queen bed opposite him.

He keeps expecting her to fade out, to not be here. To not be sitting there, breathing, smiling. Alive. Good things don't happen to Dean Winchester. Not _this kinda good_ anyway. The best kind of good Dean can ever expect is a really great cheeseburger, a good head job. A successful hunt.

"I'm real, Dean." Mary smiles.

"Yeah," Dean replies. He nods. She's human, too. She graciously accepted his need to test her. Let him cut her with a silver knife, press cold iron to her skin, willingly drank holy water. She's not a revenant, a shifter, a ghost. She's Mary Winchester and she's alive. She's here and...

"Fuck," Dean says and winces, shooting Mary an apologetic look. "I hafta call Sam." 

Something soft and sad and yearning lights in his mother's eyes. "Sammy's alive?"

"Yeah. Well. He was, a few hours ago." Suddenly, Dean  _really_ needs to hear his brother's voice. He pulls his cell phone from a pocket, praying he has a signal now. He speed dials Sam. 

 

And gets no answer.

 

 

* * *

**Part I**  
**Chapter 1**

 

_"We_ _both know you're not going to pull that trigger." He steps forward and the world erupts with sound. There's a muzzle flash._  

 

Sam's ears are still ringing from the pistol's report. His shoulder hurts and he'll have to attend to that soon. There were other, more pressing matters that he'd had to look to first.  

The woman, Toni something or other is unconscious; slumped, bound in a chair in the bunker's dungeon. Sam isn't taking any chances with her. He studies her. Blonde, slim, elegant features, delicate hands. He's dressed the wound she had self-inflicted in order to banish Cas.  

He'd deliberately provoked her into shooting him. Stupid thing to do by most people's standards, but, call it gut instinct, call it hunter's intuition; he'd known she was not here to kill him. For one, the gun was aimed too high and too far right for a shot to his heart, too low for a head shot. A deliberate miss-aim. She intended to wing him. So, he tipped the balance, braced and ready. When the gun went off, he ducked and lunged at the same instant, catching her in the waist and tackling her to the floor. 

Straddling her, pinning her arms he'd smiled, wincing a little from the glancing bullet wound in his right deltoid. "Jumped up hunter or not, I'd still be faster than you on a good day!" 

She'd fought. Well, struggled. Unfortunately, Sam had been forced to knock her out. He hated hitting women, even female ghosts, but needs must sometimes. 

The threat secured with warded cuffs and sigils on the floor, for now, Sam can turn his attention to his own needs.  

He reaches for a first aid kit. Sits down on the floor a little way from his unconscious prisoner and sets about doing just that. 

It's only a nick but it stings like hell. Sam suspects there was some kind of sigil or drug on the bullet. He's too light headed for such a superficial wound. He frowns, hisses through his teeth as he splashes antiseptic on the site. It won't need stitches. Couple of butterfly plasters ought to hold it. He cleans it up the best he can. Laments over the hole in one of his favorite shirts and then gets to his feet. 

His phone buzzes in his jeans pocket. Probably Cas calling from wherever the banishing sigil landed him. He pulls the device out and looks at the screen. 

His heart stops. Starts to beat again with a heavy thud that's almost painful. He thumbs the answer button. "Dean!" 

"Sam, where the hell have you been?! I've been calling you for an hour!" 

Sam forgets to be pissed off at Dean's first words being a mouthful of vitriol. "You're alive?" He's grinning all over his face. He glances at the blonde woman, recalling the flash of genuine regret on her face when he'd told her Dean was dead. 

"No, I'm calling you from heaven! Whaddya think?!" 

Sam laughs. "Sorry, I was a little...busy. Where are you? Are you okay? Hurt? Amara is..." 

"Everything's fine, Sam. I … I have some things to tell you but... Are you back home?" 

"Yeah."  

Toni stirs, groans softly. Sam keeps one eye on her, but his attention is mostly on the phone. His brother's gruff, irritable tones. Probably the best sound he's heard all day. 

"I'm on my way," Dean says. "Stay put til I get there." 

"Sure. ETA?" 

"I don't know for sure. A few hours?" 

"Okay. See you then." Sam clicks off the call and moves to hunker down in front of the woman, who is fighting her way to the surface. He grabs a bottle of water off a table and presses it to her lips. 

Toni drinks a little and then turns her head away. Sam sets the bottle down and backs away, pulling up a chair and sitting down. He says nothing. Just watches as she assesses her situation.  

The woman tests the cuffs and studies the sigils on the floor and ceiling before turning her attention to Sam. "I can assure you, I'm quite human," she says. "Your wardings are unnecessary." 

"I'd rather be on the safe side," Sam replies. He leans back in his chair. "What do you want?" 

She gazes at him, her expression thoughtful as she no doubt weighs how much, if anything to tell him. "As I said, I was sent to bring you in." 

Sam shakes his head. "You're gonna have to do better than that," he says. "Right now, all I know is you broke into our home, you assaulted my friend...do you even know how much it _hurts_ an angel to be banished? And you tried to shoot me. Not exactly friendly actions." 

"I didn't break in. I had a key." Toni levels a cool gaze at him. "I think you know that I wasn't trying to kill you." 

"Oh, but  _wounding_  and probably drugging me is so much better!" 

She averts her gaze. "You can't expect to get away with holding me prisoner here," she says. Her tone is cool, unruffled. "There are people who know where I was going. They'll come looking for me when I fail to check in." 

"Let them come," Sam says. "I won't be taken unawares next time. So, let's begin again. Why have you come here?" 

Toni doesn't answer. She holds his gaze, calm. Prepared to wait him out. Sam shrugs and gets to his feet. 

"Okay, have it your way." He walks out of the dungeon and closes the door. 

 

  

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 1**

Sam’s shoulder hurts like fuck. He’s sitting in the kitchen with an ice pack pressed to the throbbing wound. “It’s a goddamn _graze_ ,” he mutters. “It shouldn’t hurt this much.” Added to the pain in his shoulder, his head is pounding and Sam can feel every beat of his heart as a thrum that shakes his entire body. He’s almost certain that he’s been drugged.  

He has taken pain killers and he tried lying down but that only seemed to make matters worse. He wants Dean to get home. Even if there’s nothing his brother can do, just having him here would be comforting. Sam closes his eyes. “Quit being such a baby.”  

As though conjured by Sam’s thoughts, heavy booted footsteps resound on the hallway floor.  

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice calls. 

“Kitchen!” Sam shakes his head at a ridiculous surge of relief. He would get up, but the effort just seems too much. He smiles a little shakily as Dean appears in the doorway. “Hey!” His voice sounds raspy in his own ears. Emotion overtakes him and Sam forces himself to his feet. He drops the ice pack, his pain momentarily forgotten as he wraps Dean in a bear hug and buries his face in the elder Winchester’s neck.  

“I’m here,” Dean says. For a long moment, he lets Sam hold him and breathe him in. 

Sam pulls back, hands on Dean’s shoulders as he quickly scans his brother for injuries. Seeing none, he pulls him in again, kissing him this time, deep and fervently. 

Dean returns his kisses, but pulls away after a few moments, looking Sam over carefully. "What's wrong?" 

"I...I'm okay," Sam says. "I just. We...I thought you were dead." 

Dean nods. He lets out a breath. "Sorry. I tried to call you after everything went down, but I had no signal. And then when I did, you wouldn't pick up." 

Sam nods, and instantly regrets the action. His head spins and a wave of nausea rolls over him. He slumps into a chair and drops his head into his hands. Sam feels the wound reopen. He mutters a curse. 

"Sam?" Dean leans over him. "Dude, you're bleeding! What the hell. Who? If Crowley's behind this I'll end that son of a bitch!" 

Sam weakly lifts his head. "It wasn't..." He closes his eyes a moment. "I was shot." He watches as his brother snatches the first aid kit off the shelf by the stove. Dean comes back to him, deftly strips Sam out of his t-shirt and examines the nick on Sam's shoulder. 

"Ow!" Sam protests when Dean peels away his hastily applied dressings and prods at the wound. 

"Man up. I gotta press the edges together." 

"It just needs taping better," Sam says. He bites his lip. Closes his eyes. Closer to passing out than he cares to admit. This is five kinds of wrong for such a superficial wound. "There was something on the bullet. I... I don't know drugs, maybe?" 

Dean grunts. He works quickly cleaning away the blood, applying butterfly plasters and then a pad of gauze over the top. "It's in a bitch of a place. If it opens again, I'm gonna put a stitch in it." 

"Thanks." 

"Who shot you?" 

"A..." Sam's reluctant to admit he was shot by a woman. "We have a visitor," he says. "Downstairs." 

"Hello, boys." 

Both brothers start and turn to look at Crowley who leans casually against the kitchen doorpost. 

"Can't you learn to knock, Crowley?" Sam scowls. 

"I was in a hurry," the demon says. "Castiel asked me to look in on you. He sends his regards from sunny Herzegovina." 

"Where?"  

Crowley shoots Dean a look. "Bosnia," he says. "Geography? It's a school subject. Or it was when I was a lad." 

"Cas was banished," Sam puts in and winces at the look his brother gives him.  

"Yes," Crowley affirms. "He called me, babbling about Samantha, and some woman and being banished. Seemed to think Moose here needed backup." The demon pats the empty air at his side, around hip height. "I brought a friend." 

Sam scoffs. "And you waited until _now_  to show up." He starts to shake his head, thinks better of it. "Thanks for nothing." 

Crowley cocks his head to one side, studying Sam carefully. "You look a little peaky. Eat a bad salad?" 

Dean is slowly edging further away from where Crowley stands. "You brought a  _hell hound_ into the bunker!" 

"She's house trained. You've met her before. Juliet." He steps towards Sam and bends down. He takes a deep breath and narrows his eyes. One hand extends, hovering over Sam's head for a moment. 

"Back off!" Sam attempts to stand up, but his legs won't take his weight. 

"Huh." Crowley straightens. "Haven't seen that one used in a while." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks. 

"Well, I'm assuming Moose here encountered someone who knows more about him than just his name and star sign. Can't imagine he'd take this particular potion of his own accord." 

Sam sighs. He leans on the table, too tired and sick to bother maintaining any kind of front. He hears Dean and Crowley talking, but the words sound like a poorly tuned radio, mostly fuzz and static. He doesn't try to understand them. He closes his eyes, and lets go.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Dean glares at Crowley. "Can't you, just for once, speak in plain sentences?" 

"It's a stupefying potion," Crowley replies. "Let's just say it's one that the likes of your grandfathers used to employ against the likes of me and mine." He glances at Sam and makes an urgent gesture. "Do you think perhaps you should grab him, before he falls out of his chair?" 

Dean turns to look at his brother. He lunges and catches a hold of Sam's arm just before he slumps sideways. "Sam! Hey!" Dean gently slaps his brother's cheek, trying to rouse him. He turns to Crowley. "Here, get his other arm. You could make yourself useful instead of standing around." 

"Menial labor? Me?" Crowley scoffs. He puts a hand on Sam's shoulder. 

Dean's head reels as he finds himself in Sam's bedroom without warning. Sam, at least, is on the bed and seems none the wiser to what has happened. Dean swallows against a wave of nausea. He glares at Crowley.  

"So, this stupefying...whatever. What's it do?" 

"Exactly as you see. It makes the victim drowsy. Can hurt, too." He studies Sam for a moment. "He won't die, but you won't get much sense out of him while it's in effect." 

"There an antidote?" 

"Probably. No doubt, my mother could mix one up for you in a jiffy." The demon holds up a hand. "Before you ask. I don't know where she is. Nor do I care." 

Dean scowls.  

From the bed, Sam makes a soft, pained sound and Dean's attention shifts from Crowley. He sits on the edge of the bed and smooths Sam's sweat dampened hair back from his forehead. "Hey," he says. "I'm here. You're okay." 

"How touching," Crowley sneers. "If you'll excuse me..." He vanishes. 

Shaking his head, Dean leans over his brother. "Sammy? C'n you hear me? 

"De..." Sam is sweating and shivering at the same time. He blinks his eyes open. "Hurts." 

"I know. You're gonna be okay." Dean reaches for the coverlet at the foot of the bed and pulls it up over Sam. "I got you." He watches as Sam settles into a fitful, restless sleep. Crowley had implied that the potion was one used against demons. He frowns. Sam is not a demon. Hadn't the trials Sam completed before the angels fell, cleansed him of demon blood? Why would the stupefying potion affect him then? Dean sighs.  

 _Cas_ _,_ he prays. _Please hurry back. We need you. Sam's sick._  

Crowley refused to help them with an antidote, but there is one other avenue Dean can pursue. He makes sure Sam is as settled as he can be, and then he gets off the bed and heads out of the room towards the dungeon. It's time to make the acquaintance of the woman who did this to his brother.   
 

+++ 

 

Castiel arrives in the bunker in the early hours of the morning. The library is in semi darkness, only a single reading lamp over a table turned on. The angel can sense Sam and Dean. Both are sleeping, restlessly. Sam has a fever. Without another thought, Castiel flies to their bedside. He is bending over Sam when Dean bolts awake. The elder brother is up and has a blade to the angel's throat in the space of a breath. 

"Dean, it's me." 

Dean relaxes, the blade drops away from Castiel's neck. "Dammit, Cas! Can't you call before you just..." 

"Your prayer seemed urgent. I got here as quickly as I was able." Castiel replies. "Didn’t Crowley come to you? I asked him to help." 

Dean makes a sound in the back of his throat. "Yeah, well his interpretation of that word is different to yours." Dean puts the knife away and sits on the bed. "He says Sam's been drugged. Some kind of demon potion. I don't get it. Sam's not a demon. He doesn't have demon blood anymore, so..." 

"May I?" At Dean's nod of assent, Castiel bends over Sam again and places a hand on the hunter's chest. The skin burns hot under his palm. Sam is sweating, breathing in short, labored gasps. Castiel frowns, releasing grace into Sam's body as he examines him. "The potion isn't reacting with demon blood," he says. "It's reacting with a trace of Lucifer's essence left behind after my brother possessed him." More grace flows through Castiel's palm into Sam's body. "He will rest, now." 

"Lucifer?" Dean meet's Castiels eyes. "Isn't he an angel?" 

"This potion is effective against both species." 

Sam murmurs unintelligibly in his sleep and rolls over, burrowing into the covers. His breathing has eased and Castiel can sense that the fever has broken. He turns to face Dean.  

"I'm happy to see you," he says. 

Dean gets up and pulls Castiel into a tight embrace, which the angel reciprocates stiffly. He is still unaccustomed to this human greeting ritual. 

"I'm glad you're here," Dean says close to his ear.  

"Thank you." Castiel steps back, releasing Dean. "How did you survive? I...we assumed." 

Dean let's out a breath. "Come to the library," he says. "We can talk while Sam rests."  


	4. Chapter 4

Sam wakes to a pounding headache. He rolls onto his back and presses the palm of one hand to his forehead. He can't recall how much he had to drink last night. He remembers arriving at the bunker with Castiel. He remembers the heavy feeling of grief pressing like a stone against his heart, making it hard to breathe.  

"Dean. Dean's dead..." Pain knifes through him as he whispers the words into the still air of his bedroom. 

"Sam?" 

Sam screws his eyes shut tight. That's not Dean, that's not Dean's voice. It’s a cruel trick of his mind. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, willing the voice to stop. 

"Sammy, it's me. I'm here. I didn't die!"  

God, how he wants to believe that! Sam sobs quietly. "Please, stop." 

When a warm hand touches his arm, Sam starts. He opens his eyes, despite his intention to not see whatever cruel apparition his mind has conjured. Dean is sitting on the bed. He's strong and whole and alive. Sam can smell his cologne He can see the flecks of gold in Dean's hazel eyes. He can feel the warmth of Dean's skin where that hand rests on his arm. 

"We already did this, dude," Dean says. "What, you wanna milk the whole happy reunion thing over again?" His teeth flash white and perfect when he smiles.  

Memory floods back. Dean calling Sam, Dean telling him he would be home in a few hours. Dean, warm and alive in his arms, kissing him telling him he's fine. 

Sam sits up and pulls Dean into his arms. He buries his face in his brother's neck. "Dean!"  

Sam remembers arriving in the bunker, Castiel vanishing in a brilliant flash of white. The woman, the gun. Sam pulls away from Dean. 

"Cas, is he?" 

"He came back. He's the reason you’re sitting up talking." 

A frown and Sam lies back against the pillows. "My head hurts," he gripes. 

"Not surprised. You've been asleep all day." Dean reaches to the bedside, hands Sam a bottle of water. "I met your friend in the basement," Dean says. "Doesn't say much, does she?" 

Sam shakes his head. He uncaps the bottle and downs the water in a few long gulps. "What're we gonna do about her?"  

Dean shrugs. "I haven't decided that yet. I want to know what the hell she's doing here, what she wants and why she came in here guns blazing." 

"I don't think she came to kill me," Sam says. "She said something about 'bringing me in.'" 

"That's about all I could get out of her too," Dean says. "She was sent to bring us both in. Who do these guys think they're dealing with? They send one woman to bring _us_ in?" 

Sam doesn't have an answer to that. He swings his legs out of bed and stands up, almost pitching face first as a wave of vertigo assails him. 

"Take it easy!" Dean grabs his arm. "Cas said you might be a bit groggy." 

"I want some coffee," Sam says. "And...breakfast." 

Dean nods. "Okay, but just go slow." He walks behind Sam to the door, ready to catch his brother if he stumbles again. "We need to talk about a few things." 

 ~

Seated at the kitchen table, a half drunk cup of coffee in front of him, and the remains of hotcakes that Dean cooked cooling on a plate, Sam stares at his brother in disbelief. "It's not her, Dean. It can't be!"  

"Why not?" Dean scowls. "You came back from the dead, I came back; Cas, too! Why not mom? What makes _that_ any less possible?" 

"Dean, _Amara_  brought her back! You know that can't mean anything good! Everything Amara touches is..." 

"I tested her." Dean leans forward across the table as if to lend strength to his argument. "I had her drink holy water, cut her with a silver knife, pressed cold iron to her skin... Dammit, Sam, she even drank water laced with salt!" 

Sam shakes his head. He lets out a breath and pushes straggling hair out of his eyes. "I don't like it, Dean. It seems way too--" 

"Why don't you just meet her for yourself? You can talk to her, hell, test her again, if you want to. It's mom! I'm certain of it." 

Closing his eyes, Sam sighs. He knows how much this means to Dean. His brother longs for family. For a sense of belonging. He's been that way all of their lives and he has been the one to miss Mary the most. Understandable. Dean knew her. Sam has seen her only twice in his life. To him, she is a phantom. A whisper from the past. He has no true memories of her. 

"Please, Sammy. She wants to see you. You owe her that much at least." 

Sam shakes his head slightly, meeting his brother's eyes. "All right," he says at length. "I'm only doing this for you, Dean. I still don't trust this situation." 

Dean nods. "Thanks," he says. He takes his cell phone from a pocket and dials the phone he left with Mary. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Sam remembers playing the "What if?" Game with his imaginary friend, Sully, as a kid. They would ask each other "What if...?" And insert all kinds of scenarios. He remembers the day Sully asked:  

 _"What if your mom_ _wasn'_ _t_ _dead?"_  

 _"It would change everything," Sam replied._  

 _"Would you be happy?"_  

 _"Yeah!" Sam_ _looked at Sully like he had gone mad. "Dad wouldn't be a hunter, Dean wouldn't have to go on hunts with him all the time. I wouldn't have to be alone."_  

 _Sully looked a little sad. "You wouldn't need me," he said._  

Sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, Sam stares at the motel room door they're parked outside of. He is a world away from that lonely little kid. So much has happened over the years. He's grown and changed. He knows he is a little bitter.  

Far from feeling happy that Mary Winchester seems to have returned. Sam is suspicious. He's angry. He doesn't want it to be her. 

"You ready?" Dean looks at him from the driver's seat. 

Sam draws a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He's not ready. He'll never be ready. He nods to Dean and hits the door handle, stepping out of the car. 

~

The motel room door opens before Dean can knock. The woman looks ridiculously small, dressed in an old tee and sweatpants belonging to Dean. Her feet are bare. Long golden hair tumbles around her shoulders. She looks older than Sam remembers. Admittedly, the last time he saw her, Mary Winchester was a newlywed and pregnant with Dean. This woman, though, looks even older than in the few photographs they have of her. Sam frowns. 

Mary's blue eyes linger on Dean for a moment, and then turn to Sam. She stares for a long moment without speaking. Then, she says his name. "Sammy?" Her voice quavers with emotion and her eyes well with tears. 

"It's Sam." He ignores the look Dean shoots him.  

She nods. "Of course. Come in." She steps aside for them to pass her.  

Dean steps inside first, and Sam follows him after a moment's hesitation. He glances around the room. It's the usual kind of motel room they would rent. Sam feels over sized. There is a king size bed, a tiny table with two chairs. The room smells of soap, overlaid with a pervading mustiness. 

Dean takes one of the chairs. Sam shuffles his feet and bites his lip. He opts to sit on the bed. 

"Do you want coffee?" Mary closes the door and moves to a tiny kitchenette. "I only have instant." 

"Yeah," Dean says. 

Sam shakes his head. "No. Thanks." He rubs his sweaty palms along his thighs, clasps his hands together. He clears his throat, looks at Dean who is trying to communicate something silently. Sam can't make it out. He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. "What?" He mouths. 

Dean rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated breath. Sam can't figure what his brother wants from him. He lowers his eyes, staring at his hands while Mary fixes two mugs of instant coffee. 

Once the coffee is made, Mary gives one mug to Dean and then sits at the table. She turns her chair so that she is facing Sam. "It's so good to see you," she says. 

Sam looks up, meeting her eyes. He doesn't know what to say. He can almost feel Dean willing him to say it's good to see Mary, too. "Uh. You—you look..." Sam trails off. He darts a glance at his brother who is glaring at him. Sam stands up. "This...this wasn't a good idea." 

Mary gets to her feet, she half reaches for him, and then drops her hand when Sam flinches. "Please," she says. "Don't go yet." 

"Sam." Dean is on his feet, too. "C'mon, dude. Sit down." 

The walls press in around Sam and there's a faint buzzing in the depths of his ears. His hands are shaking. He slips them into his jacket pockets. He pulls in a lungful of air. The silence grows thicker by the second. 

Mary breaks it. "Sam, we really should talk." 

That seems to snap something inside his chest and Sam turns his gaze on her. "What's to talk about? Really, Mary, what could you possibly say to me? You _sold me to a demon!"_  

 _"Sam!"_ Dean takes a step, but halts when Mary lays a hand on his arm. 

"Dean, it's okay." Mary meets Sam's eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. 

Sam huffs out a breath. "Sorry. And that's supposed to make it okay? That's supposed to wipe the slate clean? Sorry?" He watches tears spill over her cheeks and ignores the distant pang of remorse they cause him. He shakes his head. "You want to drink coffee, and reminisce about old times, play happy families and forget that you traded me in for..." 

"All right, that's enough!" Dean steps in front of Mary, putting himself between her and Sam.  

"I can't do this, Dean." Sam tries to push past his brother heading for the door. Dean grabs his arm. 

"Just settle down, okay?" Dean's fingers press into his skin. 

Sam closes his eyes for a moment.  

"I... did trade you, Sammy." Mary's voice soft and tremulous cuts through the tension between the brothers. "You're right, and you have every right to hate me for it. It was selfish and wrong...I..." 

"He blamed me," Sam says. "Dad. He blamed me for everything that happened. I copped the blame all my life for something that happened before I was even born." He turns to look at Mary. "I was a baby that night when Azazel came to our house. I was helpless and vulnerable and—and yet, somehow it was still my fault!" 

Mary shakes her head. Sobbing, she presses the back of one hand to her mouth. "Sammy..." 

" _Don't_  call me that! You don't get to call me that. My name's Sam!" 

"I didn't think it would ever happen," Mary says. "When I made the deal, I was desperate. My mother and father were dead. John died in my arms! I know it was wrong. I shouldn't have...Sam, please..." 

Sam steps closer to her, he leans forward. "You knew enough," he says. "You knew the terms of the deal. You should have..." He swallows hard. "You should have made sure I was never born!" He brushes past her, and throws Dean off when his brother tries to stop him.  

Stepping out into the evening air, Sam pushes a hand through his hair. He shakes his head, trying to clear away the buzzing in his ears and then he starts to walk. He doesn't look back. He doesn't hear any sounds of pursuit. Dean, obviously opted to stay and comfort Mary. Sam walks to the road, and turns in the direction of the nearest bar. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: I originally posted this chapter without the scene between Sam and Gabriel. However, on further thought, and with the agreement of my beta under_a_grey_cloud I decided to repost the chapter with the scene included._
> 
> _I need to point out that in my headcanon, Sam sleeping with someone other than Dean does not equate to cheating as Dean considers his relationship with Sam to be an open one._

_If you love me_  
_I'll make you a star in my universe_  
_For you – Angus and Julia Stone_

 

Sam Winchester sits on a stool at the bar of Toby's, a pub that he and Dean sometimes stop at on their way to the MOL bunker after a hunt. A half-drunk beer is on the bar in front of him. Sam is tipsy, but it isn't helping the way that he'd hoped it would.

He'd come to the bar after leaving his brother consoling Mary Winchester at the dingy motel she is staying at. Sam frowns at the thought of her. He'd agreed to go with Dean to meet with her, but the meeting hadn't gone well. Sam couldn't bring himself to play the role of long lost son, nor forgive her for selling him to a demon before he was born.

He takes a mouthful of beer and looks at the bartender. "Dean wants to play happy families. He's always wanted our mother back in our lives. I... I don't know her; I don't trust her. I just can't."

The bartender gives him a sympathetic smile. She's cute in a rough around the edges way. Her hair is dark brown, fading to purple at the ends. She dressed in black jeans, a t-shirt with the name of an indie band, "Phantogram" on the front. She wears studded leather wrist bands, smoky eye makeup and dark fuchsia lipstick. Her eyes are pretty, gold-flecked hazel. She looks at him in a friendly, familiar way that Sam likes. "You ask me, she doesn't deserve any second chances, she left you all those years ago without a backwards glance." The girl shrugs. "Can't blame you for walkin' out."

Sam drops his gaze to his drink. He kind of skewed the facts, but it’s not like he could tell her the truth. 'My mom sold me to a demon and then she died, but now she's back from the dead.' Yeah, right. He'd wind up in a mental institution. Again.

"Hey!" the girl says after a minute. "Are you ordering, or are you just gonna stand there checking out this guy's butt all night?" Sam looks up. The bartender is looking over his shoulder at someone. He doesn't need to turn around to know it's Dean.

Dean slides onto the stool beside Sam. "Gimme a beer, and a whisky. Double." He glances sideways at Sam as the woman goes to fill his order. "What was that back there?"

Sam takes a mouthful of his now warm beer. "That was me leaving you to your family reunion."

"What, and you come here and zero in on miss demon of the month?" Dean indicates the bartender with a cut of his eyes.

Sam ignores that. "So, did she tell you anything new?"

"What d'you mean, anything new?"

"Oh. I don't know about you, but I remember being dead, and my time in the cage. I'm pretty sure you have memories too. Hell, purgatory. I mean, even Bobby said being dead bored the crap outta him. So, what does Mary remember?"

"We didn't talk much. _Mom_ was upset," Dean says. "She talked about Dad, mostly. How she's sorry that he took it out on you. And angry that he raised us in this life."

Sam glances at his brother. "Well maybe you shouldn't have left her, if she was so upset." There's a sharp edge in his voice and he's not sorry for it.

The bartender serves Dean's drinks and makes herself busy at the other end of the bar. Dean tosses back the whisky and chases it with half his beer.

"Mom told me I should come find you."

Sam huffs out a breath. "Guess what, I'm all grown up, Dean. I can come have a beer on my own and everything." Sam gives Dean his best Leave it to Beaver face.

"I can see _that!"_ Dean sends a speaking glance in the direction of the bartender again.

"She has nice eyes," Sam says. He hides a smirk at the look of annoyance on Dean's face.

"Okay." Dean finishes his beer and stands up. He tosses a few bills on the bar, and hands Sam a twenty. "Cab fare home," he says. He turns on his heel and stalks out of the bar.

Sam stifles the urge to go after Dean.

"Brothers, huh?" The bartender has returned. She smiles at Sam. "They suck. I should know, I've got something like twenty-three thousand of them." She smiles. "Don't even get me started on the _sisters!_ "

Sam shakes his head. "What... How did you know? Wait. Twenty-three thousand?" The girl seems to shimmer for a moment, her face and body rippling. Sam blinks and when he opens his eyes, the woman is gone. Gabriel leans on the bar in front of him, a mischievous smile playing across his lips. "Hi, Sam! Fancy meeting you here!"

"Gabriel." Sam shakes his head, lets out a breath. "I'm really not in the mood for your tricks tonight."

The archangel holds his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm not playing tricks – well okay, yeah, I was. But not now." He pulls a fresh beer and sets it in front of Sam.

Sam considers leaving. Thinks of his brother and the almost guaranteed argument waiting at home. He picks up the beer and takes a long draft of it. "So, can you tell me? Where was she all this time? In Heaven? Hell? Limbo?"

Gabriel shrugs. "No idea, Sam." He vanishes and reappears a moment later on the barstool that Dean vacated. "I really wish I could help you, Kiddo, but I didn't keep up with the grading of souls after I quit heaven."

"S'fine," Sam says. He pokes at a bowl of nuts on the bar, stirring his finger through the shells. "Dean just wants..."

Gabriel scoffs. " _Dean wants,_ " he sneers. "What about what you want, Sam?"

"Dean wants to play happy ever after. That's not us, though. Winchesters don't get happy endings." He glances at Gabriel. "Me?" He shrugs. "I guess I just want the here and now, you know? It's all we've ever had." He frowns. "And I don't...I _can't_ believe Amara conjured Mary up out of the goodness of her heart."

"I'm here." Gabriel leans in a little. "I'm now."

Sam continues as though he hasn't heard. "Mary is Dean's achilles heel," he says. "He was four years old, but he still thinks he should have saved her. _I_ was six months old, but somehow her death was _my_ fault because I didn't die in that fire." He takes another long pull of his beer. "If she had left well enough alone. If she hadn't come running in. Azazel would've done whatever it was he wanted to do to me. Her happy little family could have gone on. Debt paid..." He shakes his head.

"Man, I thought _my_ family sucked." Gabriel snaps his fingers, conjuring Buffalo wings and a basket of French fries.

Sam chuckles. "All your brothers are dicks," he says as he helps himself to a wing and bites into it. "Except Cas."

"Cas can be a douche when he wants to be," Gabriel replies. "I mean, that whole 'I'm your new Lord and God,' thing?"

"Yeah, he's made some bad choices." Sam shrugs. "He's still a good friend to us."

They're silent for a few moments. Sam eats another wing, and Gabriel munches a few fries. Sam sighs and takes another mouthful of beer. "Dean... he's all, 'We can be a family again, Sam. Mom's a hunter like us. You hafta help me make this work. We owe her that." He turns to look at Gabriel. "I don't owe her shit."

"No argument from me." Gabriel reaches out tentatively and pushes a strand of hair back from Sam's face.

"I don't want to go home," Sam murmurs. "There's gonna be a fight. I know it."

"So, don't go home." Gabriel smiles. "Wanna get outta here?"

Sam considers for a moment. He meets Gabriel's eyes, biting at his lower lip as he reaches a decision. "Okay."

Slowly, the bar fades out around them, and another room takes shape. Sam finds himself in an up market motel room. Way above his and Dean's paygrade. He lifts an eyebrow. "Nice room."

"Nothing but the best." Gabriel grins. He gestures to a room service trolley loaded with food. "The mini-bar's all stocked up, too."

Sam smiles. He takes a step closer, moving into Gabriel's personal space. His heart begins to pound as he reaches out, sliding a hand behind Gabriel's neck and pulls him in to kiss him. Gabriel gasps against Sam's mouth and then melts against him, his lips parting for Sam's tongue.

Sam groans low and pulls Gabriel hard against him. Somehow, they stumble and trip their way to the bed and Sam pushes Gabriel down, covering him, pinning the archangel's hands to the mattress, holding him there as he drags his mouth down along Gabriel's neck.

Gabriel purrs, arching up against Sam and tips his head back, exposing his throat for more attention. He growls when Sam fumbles at his belt buckle. "Too slow," with a snap of fingers their clothes are gone.

Sam laughs low. "Impatient." He nips At Gabriel's jaw and rolls over, pulling Gabriel on top of him.

"I've waited long enough," Gabriel replies. He nuzzles at Sam's neck and then bites when Sam lifts his chin, sucking a mark into the skin between his lips.

Everything around Sam seems to fade into the background. His mind is cleared of his worries about Mary Winchester, his argument with Dean. Sam loses himself in the heat building between himself and Gabriel.

A long while later, they lie side by side on the rumpled bed. Sam is on his back, his head pillowed on his hands as he stares up at the ceiling. His eyes trace imaginary patterns and sigils in the white ceiling plaster.

Beside him. Gabriel lies prone. His eyes are closed. Sam turns onto his side, gazing at the archangel. Gabriel seems entirely relaxed. Sam smiles and reaches to trail his fingers along the dip of Gabriel's spine.

"Mmmm." Gabriel's lips curve in a sleepy smile. It's slow and sexy; renewed desire for the angel  curls in Sam's belly.

"Were you asleep?"

"As near to it as an angel gets," Gabriel replies. "I was listening."

"Angel radio?"

"No. I turned that off. I was listening to your breaths, your heartbeat; the rhythm of the cosmos." Gabriel says, matter of fact. As though he's unaware of just how such a statement could blow Sam's mind.

Sam shakes his head. He huffs a laugh. "Wow."

Gabriel cracks one eye open and studies him for a moment in silence. Sam begins to feel self-conscious, he blushes a little.

"When angels mate, we preen one another's feathers, afterwards," Gabriel says. "I haven't had a mate in a long time."

"Gabriel..." Sam shifts uncomfortably and the archangel quickly pushes up on one elbow.

"Don't, Sam. Don't say it. Let me have this. Please?"

A sigh. Sam sits up, puts his back to the angel. He closes his eyes as reality crashes in on him. Mary, Dean. The woman held captive in their basement. "I should go," he says. "Are we even in Kansas?"

"Yes." Gabriel sits up and their clothing reappears with a quiet rustle. "I... I'll send you back."

An instant later, Sam is standing on the road outside Toby's Bar. A light rain is beginning to fall. He lets out a breath. "Shit."

Sam starts to walk.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: I'm not sure if the reposted chapter 6 went out in email to this story's subscribers, so if you didn't receive the notification, you might need to reread chapter 6 due to some fairly significant changes that I made._
> 
> _Thanks to under_a_grey_cloud for the beta on these two chapters._

Sam arrives home a couple hours later, cold, damp and mostly sober. He makes his way into the bunker. A single lamp burns in the library cum war-room. He finds his brother passed out, fully dressed and by the smell of him, rotten drunk, on their bed.

"Dean." Sam shakes the older man's shoulder, receiving an irritable grunt in response. "C'mon get undressed. You can't sleep like that all night."

"Wh—wha?" Dean pulls the pillow closer and buries his face a little deeper. "M'sleepin'"

"Yeah, boots'n'all!" Sam tugs one of Dean's boots off as he speaks.

"You smell like rain and wet grass," Dean mumbles.

"S'better than smelling like stale whisky." With a bit of wrestling and copious complaints, Sam manages to get Dean undressed and pulls the covers over his sleeping form. 

Once his brother is settled, Sam leaves the bedroom, making his way to the basement. He can hear the woman yelling before he's even halfway down the stairs. Sam sighs, and pushes open the door to the dungeon.

The woman is seated in the same chair they used to restrain Crowley a while ago. Warded leather straps fasten her wrists to the arms of the chair. A devil's trap drawn on the floor surrounds the chair, and warding on the ceiling is double insurance against any kind of sorcery or supernatural power.

She's a little less polished than she was the previous night. Her makeup is streaked. Her hair disheveled and her tailored suit wrinkled.

She glares at Sam with no less bravado than previously. "I _need_ to relieve myself," she snaps.

"Sure," Sam says. He moves to unfasten her restraints, grabbing her arm when she stands up, a little unsteady on her feet. "Careful. You've been sitting a while."

"Oh, as if you care."

"Actually, I do." Sam steadies her for a moment longer and then guides her towards the door and along the hall to a bathroom. "There are no windows, and this is the only door," he says. "If you want to wash up, there are towels. I'll wait here."

She turns blue eyes on him. "You can't hold me here forever," she says. "There are people who will come looking for me when I don't check in."

"That's fine," Sam says. "We're ready for them. I guess you lost the element of surprise, huh?"

Toni doesn't reply, but stalks into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Sam sighs. She's a complication they don't need. He bites his lip, leaning against the wall and pushes a hand through his hair. For a moment, he considers just turning her loose. He's tired, and they have enough on their plates with the resurrection of Mary Winchester.

He closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the tiled wall behind him. 

"What the hell am I gonna do?"

He gets no answer.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: There is one section of this chapter that is told in past tense. This is because Sam is recalling events that occurred the previous night. I just wanted to mention it to avoid confusing anyone._

It's early morning. Sam has not been to bed. He sits at a desk in the library. Around him on the table, books lie open, their pages illuminated by a desk lamp. His eyes feel gritty and his head, too heavy for his shoulders. Sam rubs at his forehead, swipes a finger across the screen of his tablet. He blinks, trying to make the words on the led display come into focus.

  
With a heavy sigh of frustration, he reaches for his coffee cup, takes a mouthful, and spits out the cold liquid in disgust. "Ugh!" He pushes the cup away. Leans back in the chair and stretches.

  
"You look how I feel," Dean mumbles as he enters the library. He's carrying a fresh cup of coffee. He takes a seat opposite Sam. "Found a gig?"

  
Sam shakes his head. "No. Actually I'm researching cases of spontaneous resurrection." He catches the scowl forming on Dean's face, and hurries on. "C'mon, Dean. It's not unreasonable to want to know more about this. Mary's been dead for thirty-three years! We've never known anyone that came back after more than maybe a year or two."

  
"There was Benny," Dean says. He sips his coffee, closes his eyes. "He'd been gone fifty years..."

  
"Benny was a _vampire_ , Dean."

  
"So? He was still dead more'n a couple years!"

  
Sam palms his forehead, blows out a breath through his nose. "Anyway, I haven't found one example in..." He gestures at the books. "In any of the Men of Letters' records that mentions a similar case."

  
"So? They didn't know a _lot_ of the stuff we know now." Dean's got an obstinate look on his face and Sam knows he's beating a dead horse. He gets up, heading to the kitchen for more coffee.

  
Pouring the steaming black liquid into a clean cup, Sam rubs at his tense shoulders with his free hand. He's tired, frustrated, and more than a little strung out. His mind flashes back to the hours he spent with Gabriel, the pleasure he took. He winces and shies away from exploring that too deeply.

  
He couldn't face getting into bed beside Dean last night. He'd escorted Toni Bevell from the bathroom back to her prison, and then taken a shower himself. Then he tackled the archives to see what he could unearth about resurrection. Not a whole lot, as it turned out. Not very much more than they'd already known.

  
Three times, he'd checked on the woman in the basement. Twice, he'd walked away without actually speaking to her. The third time, noting her increasingly drawn features, he'd relented and fetched her a portable cot. Even prison cells have beds.

 

  
"I guess your branch of the Men of Letters is pretty old, huh?" Sam glanced at her as he unfolded the bed and a pile of clean sheets and blankets.

  
"Older than you can possibly imagine," she said.

  
Sam quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not completely uneducated."

  
"Oh, I know about your full ride to Stanford," she said. "And how you dropped out to return to hunting."

  
"What do you know about revenants?"

  
"Enough." Her blue eyes raked over him, and Sam noted their cold contempt. "I know that they're unnatural. I know that they can be violent. Killers. That they should be constrained, or, better yet, put down."

  
Sam didn't reply to that. He finished making up the bed, forming sharp, military corners.

  
"I know that both you and your brother have returned from the dead. Dean more than once."

  
"What's the longest period dead that you know of before a revenant surfaced?"

  
She angled her head at him. "That's an odd question."

  
"Do you have an answer?"

  
"I'm not here to play governess, Sam."

  
He'd pretty much expected to hear something of the sort, but that didn't make it any less disappointing. Sam unfastened her wrists and ankles from the chair, lengthening the chains before re-cuffing one ankle and linking the other end of the chain to a cement post.

  
"You can lie down, at least," he told her. "Get a little sleep." Sam headed for the door, barely registering her reluctant thanks.

 

 

When Sam returns to the library with his coffee, Castiel and Crowley are there. Crowley lounges in the chair Sam had vacated, engrossed in one of the books from the archive. Castiel stands to one side of the demon, reading over his shoulder.

  
Sam frowns. They need to get the warding that Amara destroyed back in place. At least when it was there, Crowley had needed an invitation to visit the bunker. Then again, now that the demon and Castiel are an item, the warding probably wouldn't matter anyway. He shifts his gaze to Cas.

  
The angel has stopped reading. He regards Sam with an inscrutable look that makes something inside Sam squirm. He raises his eyebrows at the angel and then looks away.

  
"Moose, darling." Crowley's voice is smooth and overly avuncular. It makes Sam's skin crawl. He shoots the demon a sour look. "Oh, don't be like that, sunshine. Give us a smile."

  
"What do you want?"

  
"Ever the soul of charm and hospitality," Crowley snarks. "Do I have to want something? Can't I just pop 'round for tea and bickies?" He sighs. "The angel wanted to check in on you two plonkers. I had nothing better to do." He shrugs. " _Et voila!_ "

  
Sam has had enough. He turns on his heel and heads back to the kitchen. "I'm going to fix our guest something to eat," he says.

  
"Oh!" Crowley snaps his fingers as though reminded of something. "That's right, I wanted to have a chat with the little blue blood you've got in your playroom."

  
Sam looks over his shoulder. "Why?"

  
"Why not? She's bound to know all manner of useful information. From what I've heard," Crowley glances at Dean, "you two haven't had much luck getting her to spill."

  
Sam sends his brother a piercing look, which Dean deflects with a glare and a shrug.

  
"I wager I can get her to eat out of my hand in five minutes," Crowley says. "Even sooner than that, probably."

  
Dean looks at Crowley in silence for a long moment and then slowly nods his head.

  
"Dean!" Sam turns to his brother. "You're seriously going to..."

  
"He can go down there with you," Dean says, cutting off Sam's protest. "In fact, we'll all go. Maybe a show of numbers is what she needs to get her talking."

  
"It's a good idea," Castiel avers.

  
Sam shakes his head, incredulous. "No torture!" He turns on his heel and carries on into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for their imprisoned guest.


	9. Chapter 9

  
Sam is relieved that the others don't follow him to the basement immediately. It gives the woman a chance to eat her breakfast in peace. She spreads butter on her toast with small, precise motions of the knife. She sips tea from the chipped mug as though drinking from the finest bone China. Sam watches without actually looking at her, cutting her sidelong glances from under lowered lashes. She doesn't speak to him. Her focus is completely on her meal.

  
"Just so you know," Sam says when she’s she's almost finished. "What happens next? I didn't want it. Seems like I don't get much of a say around here, lately."

  
Toni sets her mug on the tray and sits back. She rests her hands, palms down on her thighs. "You've always been second fiddle to your brother," she says.

  
Sam resents that assessment, mostly because he knows it's true. "He's the eldest," he says. “You seem to know everything about us, so you must know he raised me. He’s used to being in charge.”

  
She seems about to respond but conversation is forestalled by Dean's arrival. He's flanked by Castiel and Crowley. Sam glances at them, and then returns his attention to Toni Bevell.

  
The woman is on her feet. Her gaze rests on Dean for a moment and then she flicks a glance over the angel and the demon respectively.

  
"This is precisely why our organization decided to intervene," she says. "You two seem to think you can allow anything you like into this facility!"

  
Crowley huffs a laugh. "Antonia, my dear. Long time."

  
Sam glances at the demon. He wonders if Crowley is on a first name basis with everyone on the planet. He certainly seems to know a lot of the people who cross paths with the Winchesters.

  
"I don't believe we've ever met." Toni Bevell fixes Crowley with an arch look. "Although I'm well acquainted with who and what you are," Her voice drips with such scorn, Sam is surprised the demon doesn't snap her neck from across the room.

  
Crowley smiles. The predatory look of a shark about to snap up a minnow. "You wouldn't remember," he says. "Your dear old dad, on the other hand. Rest his soul." He saunters towards her, hands in the pockets of his overcoat. "Perhaps you and I will get along better?"

  
Toni ignores him, although Sam notices that she edges back half a pace, some of her bravado slipping. She turns her eyes to Sam for a moment. "Is this how you operate? You send in your demon to torture people who don't play by your rules?"  
Sam opens his mouth to reply, but Crowley beats him to it.

  
"Torture? I rarely sully my hands nowadays." As he speaks, he pulls one hand from a pocket, casually examining his perfectly manicured nails. "I just want a little tête a tête, love."

  
"You're wasting your time."

  
"Have a seat." Crowley gestures towards the chair, and suddenly the woman is dropped in it with an undignified thump. She attempts to stand, but Crowley’s pinned her in place. "We know why you're here," the demon says. "What we don't know, is why you came to bring Moose in." He shrugs. "Not that I really care, mind you. You're welcome to take them both and do what you like with them. Still, I have to admit I'm curious. Your organization has sat on its collective hands for decades. Now, all of a sudden, you're all hot and bothered over a couple of pretty Midwestern country boys?"

  
Toni ignores Crowley and turns her attention to Sam. "I should have expected this," She says. "You and your brother are renowned for your... choice of company. You conspire with demons, you form alliances with rogue angels. You even allowed Lucifer into this bunker!"

  
"We work with anyone who's on our side," Dean steps forward and Toni sends him an icy glare.

  
"You'll get into bed with anyone, and anything," she snaps. "We know that both of you have copulated with demons, her gaze sweeps over Crowley and Sam, then back to Dean. “Fornicated with angels..."

  
Toni continues to speak, but Sam can't hear her. He feels cold sweat prickle between his shoulder blades. His heart pounds uncomfortably in his chest. He quickly glances at Dean, his breath catching in his throat as guilt twists inside of him.

Dean is not looking at Sam. He's not paying attention to Toni Bevell either. Sam catches an exchange of glances between his brother and Castiel. Dean is pale, his eyes wide with alarm. In that instant, Sam realizes. Toni isn’t talking about Sam and Gabriel; she couldn’t possibly know about that. She’s talking about Dean sleeping with Castiel.

  
Another wave of cold washes over Sam and he feels his heart stutter. An iron fist clenches around his ribcage. He hears a sound akin to someone being strangled. Dean's eyes shift to him. His brother calls his name and steps towards him.  
Sam takes a few awkward steps backwards, shaking his head. "Don't."

  
He turns and stumbles out of the room, and runs up the stairs. He shuts himself inside his room and locks the door.

 


	10. Chapter 10

In the first couple of hours after Sam locks his door, Dean pounds on it almost every 20 minutes, shouting for Sam to open up. After getting no response, he yells that he just wants to know Sam’s okay. Sam grunts a reply and Dean gives up and leaves him in peace.

  
Sam holds out for another two hours before his bladder and gnawing hunger drive him out. He visits the bathroom then heads towards the kitchen.

  
The bunker is deceptively quiet, ostensibly deserted, but Sam knows better. He finds Dean sitting at the kitchen table, a half empty bottle of bourbon and a shot glass in front of him.

  
Dean glances up as Sam enters the room. He doesn’t say anything. His eyes are wary, filled with indecipherable emotions.

  
Sam walks by him on the way to the fridge. He rummages, gathering items to make a sandwich.

  
“Sam.” Dean finally speaks when Sam’s almost finished putting together a bologna sandwich.

  
His shoulders tense, waiting for his brother to make some lame joke or defensive remark. Strained silence. Sam bites his lip, turns to look at his brother.

  
“That’s not the way I wanted you to find out,” Dean says.

  
“Really.” Sam scowls. “That’s all you can say?” He sets his plate on the table, remaining on his feet as he stares incredulously at his brother. “Don’t you mean to say you didn’t want me to find out, period?”

  
“No! Sam, I…”

  
“Were you ever gonna tell me, Dean?”

  
Dean’s shoulders slump and he passes a hand over his forehead, into his hair. “I. I don’t know.”

  
“Fuck!” Sam’s appetite deserts him and he turns to dump the sandwich into the trash. “Do you know how it feels, Dean? Do you? To find out from a stranger that your partner has been fucking someone else for who knows how long?”

  
“That’s not how it is,” Dean says.

  
“Yeah, I know! You don’t think of me as your partner. You fuck me, but I’m still just your brother. Someone you use when there’s no one better around!”

  
“Dammit, Sammy, you know that’s not true!” Dean meets Sam’s eyes, his own registering hurt and anger. “We’re not _just_ brothers! We haven’t been that in years. If you’ll listen for five seconds instead of running off at the mouth. Let me explain!”

  
Sam knows he’s being unreasonable. He has his own secret after all, and he would want Dean to hear him out if he’d been found out in the same way. He pulls out a chair and sits down. “Is it happening now?”

  
“No. Cas and I haven’t been together in a while.” Dean pours himself a drink. “The first time was after you jumped into hell with Lucifer.”

  
Sam blinks. “Wait, I thought…”

  
“Lisa and Ben.” Dean shakes his head slightly. “I didn’t go to Lisa’s right away. There was Bobby, and I was…” Dean meets Sam’s eyes. “Cas was there for me.”

  
"Okay. That was the first time. How many other times were there?"

  
"I don't know. A few."

  
"A few. So, you mean, after I came back?"

  
Dean nods. "When you were soulless. I mean that was... You weren't _you_ , Sam. I was-"

  
"I get it." Sam isn't proud of some of his actions after Cas brought him back from hell. He doesn't want to be reminded of them. "So, it's only happened in times when I was not here, or not me?"

  
Dean is silent for a beat too long.

  
"When?"

  
"When I had the mark." Dean avoids Sam's eyes. "After you gave me the demon cure."

  
Sam closes his eyes for a moment. "So were you _ever_ going to tell me?"

  
"Cas wanted to tell you. I asked him not to."

  
It's Sam's turn to reach for the bourbon. He doesn't bother with a glass, just swills it straight from the bottle.

  
"Funny how it's the angels that want to come clean, huh?" Sam stares at his brother across the table.

  
"Angels?" Dean looks confused.

  
"Yeah, Cas. _Gabriel_." Sam scowls.

  
"What're you talking about? What about Gabriel?"

  
"You were right the other night, Dean. I did like that barmaid. I liked her a lot, only it turns out, she wasn't a goth chick working at a bar."

  
"You've lost me," Dean says. "You're not making any sense."

  
"She was a he, Dean! It was Gabriel. I went home with him. I _fucked_ him." Sam gives a short bitter laugh. "He told me I should tell you. Said that secrets hurt more than truth."

  
Dean sits in silence for a long moment. He doesn't look shocked, or angry. He doesn't look hurt. He meets Sam's eyes and lets out a breath. "If you're expecting me to be mad about it, I'm not."

  
"Of course not. To do that, you'd have to believe in your heart that we have an exclusive relationship, Dean."

  
"We've never said that we do. You know I can't make you that promise."

  
"Yeah." Sam takes another long drink. "I know you can't keep it in your pants."

  
"Hey! That's not fair! You've done your share of sleeping around. I've never given you any kind of crap about it, either! I don't know where you get off pulling the bitchy wife routine!"

  
Sam slams the almost empty bottle on the table. "You know what? I don't _care_ , Dean! Sleep with whoever you want, okay? All I'm asking is that you fucking _tell_ me! That I don't hear about it from someone who lives half a fucking world away!" He stands up. "I'd like to be the first to know about whatever the fuck is going on with you for a change. Is that too much to ask?"

  
"Sam."

  
"No, really. Is it unreasonable, Dean?"

  
"Okay!" Dean throws up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. Maybe it was wrong to keep it from you, but I had my reasons. We had so much else going on. The Mark, then Amara. It just never came up."  
  
Sam palms his face, pushes long strands of hair back from his forehead. He feels his anger leeching away. Dean has a point. The past few weeks since they removed the mark from Dean have not been the most conducive to conversation. With the threat of the world ending pushing all of them to their limits there was no time to think about anything else. What difference would it have made had he known, anyway. He sinks back onto the chair.

  
"You're right," he murmurs.

  
They're silent for a while.

  
Dean rubs at his temples, an obvious tell that he's stressed.

  
"You're first, Sam." Dean meets his eyes across the table. "You've always been first with me. You know that, right? Sure, I've slept with Cas. I've been with Lisa, other women and I'm pretty sure you know about...what happened when I went darkside with the mark. But... it's you I come home to, Sammy. Every time. I come back to you. You'll always be first."

  
Sam swallows hard. He nods and pushes a smile onto his lips in spite of the ache inside his chest. It's not enough. It'll never be enough. But it's all he has.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  __ **Sam Winchester:** When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45!  
>  **Dean Winchester:** Well, what was he supposed to do?  
>  **Sam Winchester:** I was *nine* years old! He was supposed to say "don't be afraid of the dark!"  
>  **Dean Winchester:** Don't be afraid of the dark? What are you, kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You know what's out there!  
>  Supernatural Season 1 Pilot

**Chapter 11**

_Yellow eyes glare at Sam.They swirl with oily smoke. Sam is scared. He huddles into a tight ball under a threadbare chenille quilt. The room is cold, so cold. The geriatric wheeze and clatter from the heating unit only adds to his terror._

_Sam closes his eyes and hugs his knees to his chest. That’s when the whispering starts. It doesn’t matter that he can no longer see the eyes, because the whispering fills the room._

_“You’re mine, Sammy boy. You’re special, you’re chosen. Someday soon I’m gonna come for you. Big plans for you, Sammy! You’re my golden boy.”_

_Sobbing, Sam jams his hands against his ears. He wants dad to come home. He wants Dean. He wants to climb into Dean’s bed for comfort. He’s not allowed to though. Dad says he’s too old for that now. He’s nine. Dad gave him a gun. Told him that’s how big boys protect themselves. Sam’s afraid of the gun. He hates_ _it._ _He shivers, his teeth chatter. He peeks out from under the quilt and the yellow eyes loom larger. Something dark and viscous leeches out of the shadows. It rushes at him and Sam screams._

Sam wakes with a start and a smothered cry of fright. He mutters a curse and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. He hasn’t dreamed of Azazel in years. He reaches for a bottle of water on his bedside and swills half of it in a long, thirsty draught.

Tapping the screen of his phone, he sees it is 4:59am. He might as well get up. He’ll go for an early run.

Sam’s feet settle into the familiar one-two rhythm and his mind drifts as he listens to music through earbuds. His iPod is loaded with the kind of music Dean despises and won’t allow in the Impala, so Sam loves to listen to these tracks when he runs. He can free his mind and float away with the music.

He pays little attention to where he’s going. He doesn’t notice the passing of time, so it comes as a surprise when he finally stops to catch his breath and the sun is up and he’s standing on the pavement outside a familiar motel. Sam frowns. He checks the time on his phone. It's 6:15. Sam's about to turn away when a door opens. Mary Winchester is framed in the doorway. Her golden hair curls softly around her shoulders. She is about to step out of the room, but she hesitates when she sees Sam. Their eyes meet. Sam feels his heart skip a beat. He bites his lip.

"Sam?" Mary walks towards him.

Sam doesn't want to stay, but he can't pretend he hasn't seen or heard her. He shuffles his feet, glances along the road in the direction he came from.

"Sam." She's standing right in front of him, now. "I'm so happy to see you."

He wants to tell her this isn't a social visit. Something in him wants to wound her with words and tell her he didn't even intend to come here, but he meets her blue eyes, and the urge melts away. She's smiling softly up at him.

"I never imagined you'd grow so tall," Mary says.

Sam blinks. He doesn't say anything.

"I was just going to have breakfast." Mary gestures along the street. "There's a diner a few blocks down. Let me buy you a coffee?"

Sam looks down at his running clothes. He pushes a hand through his sweat damp hair. "I'm, uh, I..."

"It's early," she says. "No one will be there to see you. Besides, a little sweat never hurt anyone."

Sam nods. He doesn't quite know why he agrees to go with her. He doesn't even know why he wound up here, of all places. Usually his runs take him around the immediate area of the bunker. He figures maybe this happened for a reason. Mary starts walking and Sam falls in beside her.

At the door to the diner, Sam balks. Mary’s idea of no-one being here to see him equates to four other patrons plus the waitress and fry cook. He hangs back a little. “You know what? I should probably head back. Dean gets bent out of shape if I’m gone too long.”

Mary glances over her shoulder, one hand on the door handle. She chuckles. It’s the kind of indulgent sound he’d expect a mother to make. “You’re a grown man, Sam. I’m sure your brother will cope just fine if you stop for a coffee with me. Anyway, you could call him… You both carry those new phones, don’t you?” She pauses a moment, a thoughtful look in her eyes, then. “Why don’t we just get something to go?”

Sam nods. He watches as Mary enters the diner and stands at the counter to place her order. His thoughts flash back to the nightmare he’d had before waking. _That was because of her. Everything that happened with Azazel was because she traded my life for Dad’s._

Sam thinks of the terrified little boy who grew up afraid. Always looking over his shoulder, scared to fall asleep at night, stalked by horrors that lurked in the shadows waiting to pounce as soon as he was alone. He remembers the hateful gun John Winchester put in the hand of a nine-year-old boy. He recalls how hard it was to ask Dean to teach him knife skills when he was eleven.

Then there was the constant displacement, having no place that was his, alone. Moving from one town to the next, changing schools every few months, sometimes, not even going to school for weeks at a time. He remembers how hard he had to work just to keep up and not be kept back a year or more. All the friends he’d made and then lost because Dad got a lead on the demon.

That. All of it. That was Mary Winchester’s legacy to him.

All he'd had for all those years had been Dean.

 

And now, Mary’s back and all Dean can think about is her and how they can all be a family again. Sam feels something hard and cold swell in his chest as he watches her chat with the waitress, laughing at some shared joke. _She took everything from me. She took away the life I should have had._ He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin as Mary starts towards the door of the diner, her hands laden with coffee, and a paper sack of food.

Without thinking, he gets the door for her. Mary steps outside, smiling at him as she thanks him. Sam lets the door close behind her. He looks into her eyes.

“I can’t do this.” He shakes his head a little. “I have to go, but there’s something you need to know first. Dean’s not just my brother. He… He’s so much more than that. I won’t let you have this too, not after everything else you stole from me. Dean and me? We’re _lovers_. Partners. I’m not giving that up! You hear me? I’m not gonna let you destroy that, too!”

Sam watches the color drain out of Mary’s cheeks. Hears her strangled intake of breath. The coffee cups and paper sack land by his feet with a muffled thud. Sam holds her gaze for a long moment, defiant. Then, he walks away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: To all the readers who have stuck with me this long, I just want to thank you so much. I know this plot is developing pretty slowly so far, but it should start to pick up soon. 
> 
> The story is more of a character study on Sam and his relationship with Mary, at this point, but it will move into other areas in a little while.
> 
> I promise there is a point to all this!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**“** What did you do, Sam?” Dean meets Sam halfway down the stairs into the bunker. He grabs a fist full of Sam’s t-shirt and almost sends them both tumbling down the stairs. “I've had Mom on the phone asking what the hell is going on between us. What were you _thinking?”_ The tone of voice and the fury glittering in his eyes are so like their father that Sam shudders.

Slapping Dean’s hand away, Sam pushes past him and continues down the stairs.

“Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you!” Dean grabs Sam’s shoulder as they enter the library.

“I need to shower, Dean. I’ve been running, I’m hot.” He shakes his brother off and walks into the bathroom, closing the door in Dean’s face.

It’s a temporary solution, and Sam is not surprised to find Dean pacing the hallway when he comes out of the bathroom.

“Why did you tell her, Sam?”

“Why wouldn’t I? She was going to find out sometime.”

“Yeah, but you scream it at her in the middle of the street? You think that’s the way anyone wants to hear-”

“Hear what, Dean? Bad news? Is that what you were gonna say?”

“No! I…It’s just…”

“I didn’t scream at her, by the way, but you know what? Forget it.” Sam brushes past Dean and goes into the kitchen. He wants coffee.

“Forget it? What the hell’s that supposed to mean? What, you tell mom that we’re sleeping together without even considering what _I_ think _,_ and then you just shrug it off?”

“What’s the big deal, Dean?” Sam rounds on him. “You told me I come first! You said that I’ll always be first for you. Mary was gonna find out about us anyway. I just made that happen sooner rather than later.”

“She’s not _Mary,_ Sam! She’s our mother! _Mom_! Why is it so hard for you to say that? Huh?” Dean lunges, shoving Sam against the counter.

A moment later, Dean is sprawled on the kitchen floor. He props himself up on one elbow, and rubs the back of his free hand across his mouth, wincing. Surprised hazel eyes look up at Sam.

Panting, Sam stares at his brother, no less stunned that he actually punched him. “Dean, I-“

“Well isn’t this nice.” Crowley lounges in the doorway. He smirks, his dark eyes shifting from Dean to Sam. “Lovers’ tiff, lads?”

Both brothers turn to glare at the demon.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” Sam demands.

“I have information I thought you’d want to know.” Crowley pushes away from the door jamb and steps into the kitchen. “Lucifer’s in Kansas.”

“What?” Dean has gotten to his feet. “We thought he was dead.”

“Yes. Well. Seems the rumors of his demise were greatly exaggerated.”

“How do _you_ know about this?” Sam gives him a narrow eyed look.

“My mother told me,” Crowley replies. “Thought I’d give you a heads up. I mean, it’s not too difficult to work out where he’s headed.” His gaze rests on Sam for a long moment. “You’re welcome…” He pauses for a moment, and then, with a snort of exasperation, he vanishes.

The brothers stand in the kitchen staring mutely at each other for a few beats.

“Fuck,” Dean says.

“We need help.” Sam heads for the basement.

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas: Maybe they're moving on from you, Dean.  
> Dean: Well that doesn't make sense.  
> Cas: He (Adam) is John Winchester's bloodline, Sam's brother. It's not perfect, but it's possible.  
> ...
> 
> Sam: Look, no way. After everything that's happened? All that crap about destiny, suddenly the angels have a plan B? Does that smell right to anybody?
> 
> 5:18 Point of No Return

Toni Bevell eyes Sam coolly when he enters the dungeon. She makes no attempt to hide that she was trying to thwart the lock attaching the chain around her ankle.

Sam walks over to her. Hunkering down, he unfastens the chain.

"It's not time for my scheduled bathroom visit," Toni says.

"I know." Straightening, Sam meets her eyes. "We need your help."

She raises one eyebrow. "Why would I want to help you?"

"Because, if you don't, we're all in danger. Lucifer is in Kansas. It's a pretty good bet he's coming here. Amara...the darkness, destroyed all of the bunker's warding. He can walk right in, no trouble at all."

"The warding is gone?" She looks genuinely alarmed. "Why on earth haven't you replaced it?"

Sam has to chuckle at her innocence. "Haven't exactly had time," he says. "You were waiting for me when I got home and..." He shrugs. "Well, it hasn't been a priority. Will you help or not?"

Toni nods. Without another word, she follows Sam out of the dungeon.

Castiel and Crowley have joined Dean in the library by the time Sam and Toni arrive. Castiel and Dean are copying sigils from a large book lying open on the library table. Crowley eyes Sam, then gazes at Toni for a moment.

"Hullo, Luv," he says.

Toni ignores him and turns to Sam. "I can't see how we’re going to build effective warding when you've already allowed this filth onto the premises."

"I bathe!" Crowley interrupts, indignant.

"We'll just have to do what we can," Sam says. He moves to the table, looking over Dean's shoulder at the book of sigils and then glances at Toni. "If you know some anti archangel mojo, now's the time to share."

With a huff of distaste, Toni comes to the table and takes some paper and a pencil. She begins to draw, whilst Castiel watches her. After a moment, the angel nods his approval.

"I've seen some of these before. They will be effective," Castiel says. To Toni's evident disgust, he picks up one of her drawings and shows it to Crowley.

"Piece of cake," Crowley says. He carries a can of paint to the upper level, where he starts to spray the sigil onto the walls.

Before long, everyone is spray painting sigils. No one talks, the task at hand demanding full attention and concentration. No one needs reminding that the smallest error will nullify the sigil’s power.

Sam smears a line of red paint on the wall. He glances around the room. Bright red sigils bloom on almost every surface, across windows, over doorways, on timber paneling. It seems a shame to deface the old building this way, but they don't have access to the kind of magic the original men of letters used in creating invisible warding. Sam lets out a breath.

_It would have been nice,_ he thinks, to have even one day of peace before they found themselves up against another adversary. _It had to be Lucifer,_ he muses. _Why does it even surprise me that he's not dead? And of course he'd come after me. Or maybe even Cas, now._ Sam glances at the angel. Something tugs at the back of Sam's mind and he frowns, trying to pin down the thought They all seem to be missing something important, but he can't figure out what.

Memories of being possessed by Lucifer come unbidden. Sam shakes his head and pulls his focus back to the sigil. He starts to paint a line and then, with a cry of pain, he drops the can. Clutching at his head, Sam retches. He screws his eyes shut against a barrage of images.  
  
  
_Stull Cemetery: Sam is standing beside a gaping hole in the ground. Dean slumps against the Impala. One of his eyes is swollen shut, his face is covered with blood. A few feet away, Bobby Singer lies dead. Sam meets and holds his brother's gaze for a long moment before he closes his eyes, letting himself fall._

Hands grab him. Sam opens his eyes to see Adam...Michael. He grips the younger man's arm as they are drawn into the hole together.

"Sam! Sammy!" An insistent voice calls to him. Something snags his shoulder. Shakes him.

Groaning, Sam collapses against the wall. Red paint smears across his shirt and hair. He looks up, groggily. Dean is leaning over him, one hand gripping the collar of Sam's shirt.

"Sam?"

He blinks, shakes his head a little to clear the flashback. Sudden realization hits him and he grabs Dean's arms, his fingers digging into his brothers skin. "Mary!”

"What?" Dean shakes him. "What about Mom? Was it a vision? Did you see something?"

Sam swallows a wave of nausea. "Lucifer," he gasps. "I'm not his only vessel anymore. He – Dean - he could use her, instead!”

Dean's face drains of all color. He lets go of Sam's shirt and straightens up. "I...I hafta go get her," he says. Sam nods his agreement and Dean runs towards the garage.

"Wait," Castiel says. "I'll come with you." He shakes his head when Dean starts to protest. "No, Dean! I'm coming."

"Go," Sam says. He presses a palm to his aching head. "Hurry!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an understanding of why Lucifer would come after Mary if he can't have Sam, see 5:18 Point of No Return. Also see this brilliant piece of fandom meta! <http://lurea.tumblr.com/post/33299678928/on-angelic-bloodlines>


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Note: I decided that I would go with the canon character for Lucifer as described in teasers for Season 12 here. I like the idea, and I didn't want Lucifer to have possessed Mary (yet). So I've given him the washed up rock star (CW's description) for his vessel in this chapter._
> 
>  
> 
> _Also, sorry this chapter was a little longer in coming. We had a bit of a family crisis which I had to deal with , so writing got pushed to the back burner._

**Chapter 14**

The sigils are finished. Sam's head is still aching. He's seated at the table in the war room. Toni Bevell is sitting opposite to him. She has barely spoken a word since he brought her up from the dungeon. It hadn't seemed right to lock her up again after she’d assisted with the warding.

Crowley saunters here and there around the library. Taking books from the shelves, flicking through the pages, not really reading. Despite his casual demeanor, Sam can feel the demon’s tension from half a room away.

Sam rakes a hand through his hair, and eyes his phone as though he can make it ring through sheer willpower. It remains silent. He gets to his feet. "I'm going to get a drink," he says. "Want anything?"

Toni glances up at him. "Water, please." 

Sam is in the kitchen when he hears his phone’s message ping. _Damn._ Snatching a beer and a bottle of water from the fridge, he hurries back into the library. He sets the drinks on the table and grabs the phone. The message is from Dean.

 _Mom not at hotel. Cas trying to get a fix on her._  

Muttering a curse, Sam begins to tap out a response and almost drops the phone when it rings in his hand. He doesn't recognize the number. Frowning, he answers.

"Hello?"

 _"Sam. It's so good to hear you!"_ The voice is unfamiliar, but Sam would know the tone and nuance anywhere.

"Lucifer! How did you get this number?"

Toni Bevell glances at Sam sharply. She opens her mouth to speak. Sam holds up a hand to her and turns away.

_"That's not important. I thought you'd like to know if I'm okay. I am, thanks for asking."_

"Why did you call, Lucifer?"

_"Just wanted to shoot the breeze with an old friend. Hey! Guess who I'm wearing. Go on. You'll never get it in a million years, but try anyway."_

"Look, I haven't got time for..."

 _"Aw, c'mon, Sammy,"_ Lucifer cajoles. _"Don't be a wet blanket!"_  A pause. _"No? Okay, I'll tell you."_  He chuckles. _"He's this washed up rock star, right? I mean, he had a hit or two back in the day, but I bet only your brother would remember him now. It was so easy to get him to say yes. Money, fame...sex. It's all you mortals think about."_

Sam rolls his eyes. "I'm hanging up, now."

_"Already? Oh. I almost forgot. Mary says hi!"_

Sam goes cold all over. "What have you...if you've hurt her..."

_"Oh, relax. She's having a ball. I picked her up in a bar after my last gig. She was drowning her sorrows over her son rejecting her, or something...I wasn't really paying attention. Anyway, gotta run. We're moving on to our next show tonight. Nice chat! Bye, Sam."_

"Lucifer! You let her go, you hear me? You let my mother go!"

_"You know what? I think I'll keep her around a while. I like her. She's from a good bloodline, know what I mean?"_

"Lucifer!" Sam is shouting into the phone. "Lu..." The line goes dead.

 

**End of Part I**

 

 


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